


In Naamah's Service

by xenocuriosa



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Consensual Non-Consent, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Facials, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gangbang, Hair-pulling, Multiple Orgasms, POV Multiple, Rape Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenocuriosa/pseuds/xenocuriosa
Summary: Four Night Court adepts spend a great deal of time and effort on one pretty patron.
Relationships: Original Night Court Adept/Original Patron
Comments: 21
Kudos: 54
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	In Naamah's Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmorousGreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmorousGreen/gifts).



Thomas nó Eglantine had read the contact a dozen times, picked his cohorts from the best players Eglantine House had to offer—along with Aramis and Alphonse nó Mandrake, the twins whose cruel creativity was unmatched across Houses, and who were decent actors in the bargain—and now, exactly one week since Dominique de Lumière had put quill to parchment and signed away her body for the evening, he was ready.

Setting down the parchment after his final skim of Dominique’s requests and boundaries—he had memorized it, but it was better to be absolutely sure—he turned to his fellow adepts, who were waiting patiently for him to finish, and cast his eyes around the circle.

Aramis and Alphonse were, of course, the most bright-eyed and eager to begin. Thomas had picked them for this joint venture partially because of their undeniable talent for making patrons squirm and cry, but mostly because he had grown up with the two of them in Orchis House, before the Dowayne had determined their urges too violent and Thomas’ own desire for drama too contrary to the canon of Orchis, and sold them apart. He knew he could trust them. With white-blond hair worn long and blue eyes sparkling with cruel laughter, their postures easy and languid, they would be perfect for their roles.

Louis nó Eglantine was a study in contrasts to the Mandrake twins, black-haired and dark-eyed, nearly Tsingani in coloring, with a straight back and an intense gaze. He was the best actor in Eglantine House bar none, and Thomas wasn’t ashamed to admit it. And this role, as he had told Thomas when he was recruited for this assignation, was like nothing he’d ever done before. Thomas had had some doubts as to Louis’ ability to stay in character initially, but then he had seen the fire of interest and arousal in the man’s face after he’d read through the contract and Lady Dominique’s very detailed desires, and knew he’d made the right choice.

And then there was Thomas himself, of course, with curly brown hair pulled back in a plait, a lean figure, and what had been termed by some as an almost insufferable desire to direct events around him. As a ringleader, he knew he was perfect.

They were all of them exquisite. The canons of the Houses differed, but one trait was shared between them: beauty.

Dominique de Lumière would be satisfied with their liaison, Thomas thought.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, judging the time from the angle of the sun streaming through the windows of Eglantine House’s private parlor, “as the globe turns, so do we, and the sun is setting in the west.” Alphonse rolled his eyes; he’d never been a fan of the poet Thomas was quoting. “Please, remind me of the Lady Dominique’s _signale_.”

“Riverboat,” they chorused, and Thomas took a brief moment to wonder what significance the word held for the woman, if any. He doubted he would find out.

“Excellent,” he said with a nod. “And three quick taps in case the lady’s mouth is occupied. Have you all made your prayers to Naamah—and Kushiel, of course,” he added, with a nod at the Mandrake twins.

“Oh, of course,” said Aramis sardonically. Louis sighed and answered for all of them.

“Yes, we have,” he said. Unlike Aramis and Alphonse, he was accustomed to Thomas’ desire for iron control over the performances he directed, down to every last detail. “I myself went to Naamah’s temple and asked the priest for his blessing.”

His eyes darted between the other three; Thomas noted that. He was, then, a little uneasy still with the prospect of acting out the crime of heresy—not that Thomas could blame him; his first few times had left him on edge, too. He caught Louis’ eye and arched an eyebrow; Louis threw him a look with determination in his eyes. Thomas subsided.

“Then let us make haste,” he said, clapping his hands together once. “The Lumière townhouse and the sweet little blossom within awaits us.”

In the carriage, they bantered about insignificant things, Thomas guiding the conversation gently. They had, over the course of the week, settled into a friendly rhythm as they met and discussed Lady Dominique’s requests and how to best fulfill them: Aramis and Alphonse picking on Louis, who deflected their attacks with stinging witticisms that the twins only realized were good-natured insults a few minutes after the barbs had sunk in. Thomas interjected now and then to startle a laugh out of them, but mostly stayed aloof. He would be running the show, and though he participated in the conversation for camaraderie's sake, his mind was on the assignation ahead.

Lady Dominique did not especially want to be hurt; she didn’t care for whips and flechettes, which was why, when her husband organized this assignation for her, he did not go to Mandrake House. On the contrary, she had requested that physical violence be limited to slapping and biting. What the dear lady wanted was to be _ravished_ , to be pleasured and humiliated both, and with more finesse and realism than an untrained person like her husband or her lovers could provide. Oh, D’Angelines were natural experts in the arts of the bedchamber; but even the most skilled layman paled in comparison to the art of the adepts of the Night Court. And even other adepts of the Night Court paled in comparison to the players of Eglantine House.

Thomas leaned his head back against the cushioned seat of the carriage and smiled, eyes half-closed. Oh, yes, Lady Dominique would be satisfied this evening.

“What are you smiling about?” Alphonse inquired.

“He’s plotting,” Louis said dryly. “Pay him no mind.”

Thomas made a rude gesture and sparked a wave of laughter among them.

“I am,” he said haughtily, “an artist contemplating his work—“

“All you Eglantine adepts are so pretentious,” Alphonse said with a snort.

“ _Excuse_ me—?”

“I take offense to that,” Louis interjected, “for we are surely no worse than the arrogant flagellants of Mandrake House—“

And so on, tossing barbs at each other until all of them broke down in laughter, a last moment of levity before the assignation began.

* * *

Roparzh de Lumière was a tall man with dark hair, kind eyes, and a forthright manner. It was no wonder, Thomas thought, that Lady Dominique sought fulfillment of her darker pleasures elsewhere.

“Gentlemen,” Roparzh said genially in a thick Camaeline accent. “Welcome.”

He invited them in, offered them wine. Glances were exchanged behind his back, eyebrows lifted: adepts at the house of a patron were generally not treated as respectable guests. But Roparzh de Lumière was a Camaeline lord to the core, with all the courtesy and good manners that implied, and it was hardly as if they would turn down a vintage as sweet as the one he offered them.

“My wife will be home in about half an hour,” he told the group of adepts, after the five of them had exchanges niceties and drank enough wine to be polite without influencing their behavior—Alphonse had given Thomas a pleading look midway through his glass, but Thomas’ word was law now, and he insisted on sober players for a game of this magnitude. “What will you have of me tonight?”

“You can wait upstairs,” Thomas said, and took his glass to the foyer, surveying the hallway. The kitchen was to the back, the dining hall where they sat adjacent to it. “Does she know it’s to be tonight?”

“She has no idea.” Satisfaction laced Roparzh’s voice. “I told her any time in the next month. I think she’ll have had time to relax—she won’t see it coming.”

“Clever,” Louis approved.

“Thank you,” Roparzh said with a glowing smile, and Thomas hid a smile of his own. He thought that Louis might have a new patron visiting him soon, if the de Lumière coffers could stretch that far.

But though the man’s infatuation amused him, he steered the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“So she won’t be expecting it,” he said. “Does she come in through the front entrance?”

“Usually,” Roparzh said. “The mural, you know—“ And there was indeed a pastoral mural decorating the hallway. “—she quite likes to see it.”

“It’s well done,” Thomas said absently. “So, she’ll come in here, and take off her cloak—do the servants know what we’re about?”

“I’ve sent away the ones who might talk,” Roparzh assured him. “Everyone in this house knows this is Naamah’s business tonight.”

“Good,” Aramis drawled. “I would hate to get stabbed by an overeager manservant.”

“She’ll take off her cloak,” continued Thomas, with a stern glance at Aramis, “and come into the house. To the kitchen, I expect, if she’s been gone all day—she’ll want something to drink.”

He steepled his fingers and tapped his lips with his index fingers lightly.

“We’ll take her in the kitchen,” he decided, “and drag her to the dining hall. That table looks sturdy enough for your ropes, doesn’t it, Alphonse?”

“Certainly,” Alphonse said, brushing his hand lightly over the bag on the table next to him.

“Perfect. The two of you will grab her—Louis and I will wait in here.”

He met Louis’ eyes and the man nodded to him in affirmation.

“Louis will do the bulk of the talking—no offense to you lads, but none of us will be able to be quite as, ah, menacing as Louis at his most villainous.”

“And you?” Louis inquired. Thomas grinned at him.

“Why, I’ll be telling you lot what to do,” he said.

“Are you going to hand us a script or trust us to do what we do best?” asked Aramis sweetly.

“Oh, I’ll leave you room to be imaginative,” Thomas assured him, and turned to Roparzh amid his cohorts’ soft chuckles. “Does that serve, my lord?”

“It serves quite well.” Roparzh’s face had gone thoughtful. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“Lady Dominique requested players with experience in this kind of role,” Thomas pointed out. “That would be us.”

Roparzh didn’t say anything, but Thomas knew what he was thinking: that only a certain type of man would find the play-rape of a woman appealing, and perhaps that type was…perverse. Twisted, even. Thomas had wondered that about himself as well. But he had no taste for genuine pain or fear, and certainly no desire to break the sanctity of the signale. 

And tonight, he could feel the glittering tension of Naamah’s and Kushiel’s combined blessing settling over them, and he knew it was well.

“Upstairs, then,” Roparzh said. “You’ll let me know when you’re done?”

“Of course,” Thomas said with an incline of his head, and Roparzh departed.

Thomas set the twins up at the entrance to the kitchen, hiding behind the door, and joined Louis in the dining hall. His fellow adept was gazing thoughtfully into the bottom of his wine glass, swirling the dregs as if trying to read his future from them like a Tsingani fortune-teller.

“Ready?” Thomas asked, dropping into a chair next to him.

“Very,” Louis said, and set his glass down with a clink. He met Thomas’ eyes, gaze serious. “Thank you for choosing me for this assignation. I know you had many options.”

“Hardly any as skilled as you,” Thomas said, taken aback a little by the seriousness of the statement. “It’s no problem.”

“Still.” Louis was silent a moment. Thomas wasn’t entirely sure what to say; he and Louis had never been close, no more than any other adepts. But there was a second layer to this conversation Thomas couldn’t quite decipher. “I have been…curious about this for some time.”

Thomas couldn’t prevent his eyebrows from arching. Louis glanced at him and gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“I know,” he said. “I was almost sent to Mandrake when I was young, did you know? But I convinced the Dowayne that Eglantine House would be better served by keeping me there.”

“Well, a man of your talents,” Thomas said. “She would’ve been a fool to let you go.”

He leaned over to grip Louis’ shoulder. “And if this night lets you experience Naamah’s blessing anew, then I am glad to share it with you.”

Louis smiled at him, a gorgeous thing like a sunbeam breaking through clouds, and then the door to the foyer opened.

The two of them went still. In the kitchen, Thomas could imagine the twins experiencing the same jolt of excitement and nerves that went up his spine, the excitement of the stage; all adepts were players in their own way, after all.

Lady Dominique had a light step, but Thomas could hear her walking down the hallway to the kitchen, just as he had predicted. He closed his eyes, thinking of the twins in the dark, hunters waiting for prey.

A scuffle in the kitchen, a muffled scream. The twins’ mocking laughter drifted to the dining hall, Alphonse’s voice murmuring something indecipherable laced with a cruel edge.

Thomas tensed. Beside him, Louis tensed too. They met each other’s gazes for a moment, wolves in moonlight.

They waited for Lady Dominique.

* * *

There had been a portrait of the lady of the house in the entrance hall: a pretty woman, fine-boned, with rich auburn curls and dark eyes. The thought of taking her roughly was enough to get Louis’ blood up.

And that was before the Mandrake twins dragged Lady Dominique, struggling and spitting, into the dining hall.

In person, there was a fiery quality to her that the portrait lacked, an energy and vigor that was only partly driven by fear and arousal. She was magnetic; Louis thought she would fare well on the stage.

As it was, he was quite looking forward to playing the part of her violator.

The twins deposited her on her knees before the table, where both Thomas and Louis lounged; Aramis tangled one hand in her hair and jerked her head back harshly, forcing her to look straight at them. And oh, the fury in her eyes! She was indeed a player of fine quality; that fury almost eclipsed the eagerness hidden in her expression.

“Look who we found skulking in the kitchen,” Aramis drawled, adjusting his grip on her hair to pull it even tighter. “A pretty piece, isn’t she?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sensed Thomas tilt his head slightly toward him. It was to be Louis’ show, then—at least until Thomas chose to intervene.

Louis was very, very good at improvisation.

“A pretty piece indeed,” he agreed. He raked her body with a look that made her quiver. She wore a demure brown riding habit that set off her lovely hair and pale complexion, with a higher neckline than was fashionable. Perhaps last year’s style, or even earlier. Louis doubted she would mind if it were damaged. “Let’s take a closer look. Alphonse, strip her.”

The man in question drew his knife with a smile as sharp as the blade. Dominique’s eyes grew huge as he made a show of sliding it from its sheath and angling it to catch the light.

“Don’t—” she said, fear gilding her voice, but with an edge of desire, struggling in Aramis’ iron grip.

Alphonse put the knife to the neckline of her riding habit and ripped it down the center, slicing neatly through her corset, opening the garment to her waist. Dominique shrieked and twisted in a fruitless attempt to escape, but Alphonse put his hand to the torn edge of the riding habit and jerked it open with casual strength. Her breasts were bared, firm and pert, nipples pink and begging to be toyed with.

“Oh, very nice,” Alphonse said approvingly, and squeezed her left breast, finishing it off with a pinch to her nipple that made her squeak. Sensitive, then. Louis would remember that. “We ought to take her. Gods know we’re taking everything else of value in this damn house.”

“We can’t kidnap her,” Louis said disapprovingly, and Dominique’s eyes fixed on him in mute appeal and confusion. He smiled at her, let his expression grow colder until she flinched. “But we can _take_ her, certainly.”

Her mouth gaped. She shook her head back and forth, though her movement was limited by Aramis’ grip. He laughed and shook her from the hair, and she yelped.

“Get her naked,” Thomas commanded from Louis’ side.

The twins hauled her up to her feet, Aramis trapping her arms behind her back while Alphonse cut the rest of the habit away. Gods, she was a beauty! Petite and vulnerable ( _easily overpowered_ , Louis thought). Already there was a flush of arousal on her chest and cheeks. Every inch of creamy skin bared made Louis’ phallus twitch in his breeches.

“You—you can’t do this,” she stammered. “This is heresy!”

“It’s only heresy if you believe in the gods,” Louis said with a sneer. It was what his character would say, but Alphonse flashed him a startled look. Louis ignored it. He stepped closer, touched her sternum, slid his finger down to her navel. His touch caused goosebumps to erupt on her skin and she tried to pull away—quite unsuccessfully, as it only pressed her closer into the twins’ arms. Her breath quickened.

“You bastards,” she breathed. “You bloody bastards, how dare you—“

“A foul mouth on this one,” Aramis commented.

“Maybe we ought to shut her up,” Alphonse added, and forced her back down to her knees.

“Good lads,” Louis said approvingly; they were decently good at improv. He unlaced his breeches and added, “Hold her arms up. And you,” he said to Dominique, “you watch your teeth, or I’ll make you sorry.”

Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated.

“You can’t mean it,” she whispered.

Louis drew out his phallus and said, “I think you’ll find I can. Now open your mouth.”

A shiver ran through her, and she shook her head. Louis slapped her, more gently than he could have, but still hard enough to sting.

“I said open your mouth, or I’ll make you hurt,” he threatened, and pressed the crown of his phallus to her full lips.

They parted beneath the pressure and Louis shoved himself inside, ungentle; the lady had specifically requested such. Hot and wet, and he could hear her gag as he hit the back of her throat and pushed in further. She whimpered and the sound reverberated up his shaft, and Louis groaned, thrusting lightly.

Over his shoulder, Louis sensed Thomas gesture.

“You can do better than that,” Aramis said to her, on cue. “Put your back into it, woman. Use your tongue. You know how, don’t you?”

A whimpered affirmative, and then Lady Dominique did indeed use her tongue. Groaning, Louis shoved himself as deep as he could go, entangling his fingers in her hair, brushing against Aramis’ hand. The twin winked at him and let her go; Louis took full control of her body, violating her mouth with every thrust. Dominique, her hands freed, gripped his thighs and moaned, nails biting into the flesh, but did not tap him three times. He fucked her throat slowly while she struggled and whined, his eyes half-closed with pleasure.

“Don’t be selfish,” Thomas said, setting his hands on Louis’ shoulders. “Let us all have a piece.”

“Fine,” Louis said, and released her. She fell back on her heels, gasping and wiping at her mouth. 

Aramis grabbed her hair and said, in the sort of accent no proper adept of the Night Court should use, “Thanks, mate.”

They passed her around, the four of them, joking and taunting. Dominique, in the few seconds when a cock wasn’t rammed down her throat, whispered pleas and promises that they ignored, laughing.

When Thomas took her, guiding himself into her mouth with a hand on the back of her skull, Dominique started to cry.

For a moment, Louis’ resolve faltered. He hadn’t had anyone cry of aught but pleasure in his bed—or elsewhere—before. But the lady had asked for this, and the memory of reading her contract, which was as much a list of fantasies as anything, aroused him again.

And besides, the tears looked so very pretty on her delicate face.

“Elua!” Thomas grunted, and pushed her away. Dominique fell, splayed across the floor, naked. “That’s good. Good as a Servant of Naamah. Maybe she’s lying about her status, lads, what do you think?”

“You think she’s a whore?” Aramis asked with interest, nudging her with his foot.

“Let’s find out,” Louis said. “Pick her up. Let’s see how much she’s enjoying herself.”

Dominique scrabbled at the floor, trying to crawl away, but she was no match against four men, or even one man, for that matter. They hauled her bodily upright and Aramis shoved her belly-down against the dining table, pinning her in place with one hand planted on her back.

“First taste?” he invited Louis, who grinned back.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and knelt down, his head level with the cleft of her thighs. 

“No,” Dominique moaned, and jerked hard as Louis slid a finger between her plump nether-lips. The sound of her arousal was audible, especially once Louis thrust his finger inside her and pumped it a few times.

“I’ll be damned; she’s soaked through,” he said.

“A whore indeed,” Alphonse laughed, and the other three traded jokes as Louis put his mouth against Dominique’s wet cunt and began to lick.

Licking and sucking, yes, his face messy with her arousal, parting her nether-lips with his tongue, finding Naamah’s pearl and caressing it while Dominique gasped and sighed above him, whispering “no” and “don’t” to no avail. He teased her nearly to the apex of pleasure, over and over, until her legs were trembling and he could hear her nails scraping the table as she pleaded for him to stop.

“How’s it taste?” Aramis asked him, and Louis sat back on his heels.

“Come and find out,” he said, and swapped places with Aramis, who smacked Dominque’s buttocks carelessly before dropping to his knees.

“Help me out,” Alphonse said to Louis, and together they went about strapping Dominique to the table legs.

Alphonse tied a beautiful knot, Louis had to own, perfectly symmetrical, and just tight enough to keep her firmly in place without hurting her.

“She won’t escape,” Alphonse said, pitching his voice to be heard over Dominique’s moans. “We’ll have her for as long as we want.”

As if on cue, Dominique tried to kick at them, but her legs were tied now, and Alphonse was right: she wasn’t getting out until they let her out.

“Bit late for that,” Louis said to her. Then, to the others, “I’ve had a taste of that pretty cunt, and now I’d like to see how it feels wrapped around my cock.”

“Mmm,” Aramis hummed, his face buried between her shaking legs. He pulled away. “Does that mean you want me to stop?”

“Yes; now get out of my way,” Louis drawled, and Aramis laughed before doing exactly that.

Behind Dominique now, Louis pressed the tip of his phallus to Dominique’s wet entrance.

“Please,” she whimpered, but Louis could sense her eagerness as her hips pushed back against him, begging him to fill her up. “Please, I don’t want this—”

“Liar,” Louis whispered, and thrust inside her with one stroke.

Ah, it was good! He dug his fingers into her hips and set up a punishing rhythm. She squealed and squirmed, her body resisting, but she could not escape as he pounded into her relentlessly. Her nether-lips were wrapped around his cock, stretched full and tight around him.

She jerked. Louis glanced up and saw Alphonse holding her nose shut to force her mouth open, then taking it without delicacy.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, pinpointing her deepest desire as Night Court adepts were wont to do: “I think we’ll take you with us, whore, and use you for a little fun on the road while we sell your family treasures. What do you think about being bartered to the Skaldi for safe passage across their territory?”

Dominique half-screamed and her body convulsed under him, her inner walls shuddering as she reached her peak at last.

“Trade?” Louis asked Alphonse as her quivers receded.

“I want a turn,” Aramis complained, and Alphonse rolled his eyes.

“Let him or he’ll be insufferable,” he said, and stepped away from Dominique. “I’ll give you a chance with her mouth.”

Good, Louis thought. He wanted to spend all over her pretty face.

Dominique’s face was tear-streaked, and saliva had dripped onto the table from Alphonse’s enthusiastic ravishing of her mouth. Gently, Louis wiped away her tears, noting the way she trembled.

“Open your mouth,” he said, pitching his voice to tenderness.

She whimpered and obeyed.

Louis was not aggressive, this time; he left that for the three other men, taking turns plundering Dominique’s vulnerable body from behind. Instead, he thrust lazily inside her mouth, into her throat, where he could feel her muscles working as she tried to take him deeper. Tension was building within him, a string pulled taut. He yanked gently on her hair, took himself out of her mouth, and said, caressing his shaft all the while, “Beg for it.”

“Please,” she whispered, “please, on my face, I want you to come all over my face—”

Louis groaned and did just that.

The translucent liquid spurted over the delicate bones of her face. Dominque sighed and turned her head, as if accepting it. Then Thomas thrust into her hard and her eyes flew open, a yelp coming from her mouth.

Louis laughed and stayed where he was as his compatriots finished with her, stroking her hair as she shuddered through climax again and again. He was pleased to have left his mark on her the way he had; just as he was sure his fellows were pleased by the way their seed dripped out of her body as they spent themselves inside her.

Then it was over; the adepts were spent and Dominique—Lady Dominique, now—was dazed with pleasure, a smile touching her lips as she nuzzled against the hewn table.

“That was good,” she said, voice blurred with the aftermath of climax and hoarse from weeping. She hummed in satisfaction. “May I see Roparzh now?”

“Of course, my lady,” Thomas said. “I’ll get him at once.”

Louis stepped back and laced up his breeches as the twins untied Lady Dominique from the table. She sat on the floor and rubbed her legs where the ropes had dug into her skin.

“You tie a fair knot,” she said to them as Roparzh and Thomas descended the stairs.

“We do try, my lady,” Aramis said with a wicked smile; then her husband was gathering her in his arms and nodding at the group of adepts.

“Thank you,” he said courteously, with an especially warm smile for Louis, who was amused by the gesture. “My manservant will bring your patron-gifts by shortly; I need some time with my wife.”

Thomas bowed.

“It was a pleasure,” he said sincerely. “My thanks for your generosity, my lord.”

And the lord de Lumière had indeed been generous; on the carriage ride back to the City, they all exclaimed over the frankly obscene amount of gold ducats Roparzh had deemed fit to gift them.

“Do all patrons give so freely to Eglantine adepts?” Aramis asked in mock outrage, a grin on his face as he ran his fingers through the coins. “I ought to switch Houses!”

Thomas retorted with asperity; the twins laughed; Louis leaned his head against the carriage door and smiled dreamily into the distance. He would tithe half his patron-gift to the Temple of Naamah, he thought, as a thanks for bestowing her grace upon him when he did not expect it.

It had been a good assignation indeed.


End file.
